From the Outside Looking In
by tigerdreams
Summary: In need of parts and supplies, the Andromeda stops off at a mining planet which has a problem that Harper may be able to solve. Rated PG-13 for language.
1. Chapter 1 Disclaimer and Intro

Title: From the Outside Looking In

Spoilers: Vague allusions to "Bunker Hill" and "The Torment, The Release"

Season/Setting: Some time in Season 4

Email: ashnod99hotmail

Feedback: Absolutely. I'm always happy to hear what people think, and whether or not I suck.

Archive: Sure. Just let me know first.

Rating: We'll say PG-13 for language. Subject to change.

Thanks: To Mercury's Winter, my unbelievably wonderful beta-reader, and to Josey, my friend, encouragement, and Pedantic Grammar Nazi.

Author's Note: Harper's comedically tragic luck with women has become one of the staple running gags on the show. It's always reminded me of the Coyote and his persistent yet futile struggle to catch the Roadrunner. Well, you know what? I've always wanted to see the Coyote catch the Roadrunner. I think I would have found that amazingly satisfying. After seeing the female Collector scientist's refreshingly positive reaction to Harper in "Fear Burns Down to Ashes," I was inspired to write this fic, which is completely unrelated to that scene in all but concept. Thus I present for your reading pleasure, a tale wherein the Coyote catches himself a Roadrunner.

Further Author's Note: To quote Mark Twain, "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." The situations and settings contained in this story are intended as a convenient vehicle for the plot of a fanfiction, not as an extended sociocultural critique. Take from them what you will.

The Inevitable Disclaimer: No intellectual property rights were harmed during the making of this fic. Please do not sic rabid attack lawyers on me. I own neither Andromeda nor its characters, and am making no money from this story. Darn, now I've depressed myself. The original characters and plot do belong to me, however. Which still isn't as good as owning Harper, but it's something. I guess.

Day 17

After two and a half weeks in the Narov Sulfur Deserts, our search has borne fruit. This afternoon we crossed a ravine, and one of our team happened to notice something green among the rocks. Upon closer investigation, we discovered a specimen of the rare saffron lion-rose that we had been hoping to find, growing in a crevice. No matter how many times it happens, I never cease to be amazed at the way life manages to persist and flourish even in the harshest, most unlikely places.

From the Journals of Dr. Paige Solon, Commonwealth Botanical Survey, CY 8891

"Is it just me, or does _everybody_ in the universe want to kill us these days?"

"I don't think it's you, Boss," replied Harper, walking into Command as Beka finished speaking. He made a couple of notes on the flexi he was holding, then set it down on a nearby console.

Dylan turned away from the viewscreen to face the young engineer. "How are those repairs coming, Mr. Harper?"

"Not so great, now that you mention it. I think we'll get one, _maybe_ two jumps before the slip drive falls apart on us. I'm holding her together with duct tape as it is. We'll need to stop somewhere for parts before I can get her into anything like normal working order."

"Alright. Looks like we need to find somewhere nearby where we can pick up some parts." Dylan returned his attention to Andromeda's AI on the monitor before him. "Andromeda, any likely candidates?"

Andromeda's image on the monitor half-lidded her eyes as she searched through her computer banks. "One. Lanvar Three. It's a mining planet with an orbiting station and skyhook. We should be able to get the parts we need there, and perhaps even dock for repairs."

"They're not gonna want to blow us up too, are they? We're not exactly the most popular people in the Known Worlds right now." Beka didn't bother to keep the cynicism out of her voice.

"Unlikely. From the information in my databanks, Lanvar Three experienced a shift of political power two years ago, and the government has been primarily concerned with resolving domestic affairs. They are not known to have significant ties to the Nietzscheans, the Collectors, the Kalderans, or really _any_one, for that matter."

"How does a mining colony, which presumably requires both incoming supplies and exported ores in order to sustain itself, manage to remain so isolated?" wondered Rhade aloud, looking up from the weapons console.

"We'll find out soon enough. Beka, if you'd care to do the honors?" Dylan gestured to the piloting platform.

She nodded, and took her position at the console, keying in a few commands. "Opening slip portal. I hope that duct tape of yours holds, Harper."


	2. Chapter 2 Welcome to Lanvar Three

The man looking back at Dylan from the viewscreen didn't look like a politician. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, though the shock of white hair above a scar that ran along the side of his forehead into his hairline, as well as the air of weariness about him, made him look older. Dylan rather thought he knew how the man felt.

"Greetings. I am Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda Ascendant. My ship is in need of repairs and supplies, and I was hoping you would be interested in conducting trade."

The man on the viewscreen gave him a friendly smile. "Well met, Captain Hunt. I am General Marcus Kellan, interim President of Lanvar Three. Your ship is welcome to dock at our station, and we will be pleased to assist you in obtaining whatever you need to repair your ship. And..." He paused, as if trying to remember something. "...Dylan Hunt, weren't you the man who was trying to put the Systems Commonwealth back together a couple of years ago?"

_No point in denying it_, thought Dylan. "Yes," he admitted, "that's me."

General Kellan's face showed no sign of losing its friendly expression. "Ah. How's that been going, by the way? News from offworld has been a bit sporadic lately, I must confess."

The Captain inwardly gave a sigh of relief, then pondered the best way to answer the man's question. "That's... rather a long story, actually."

The General nodded. "Well, I hope you'll do me the honor of meeting me on the station this evening and telling it to me, along with anything else that has been going on in the rest of the universe these days that I've missed. And, perhaps, you might be able to help us out with a bit of a problem that we have on our hands."

"I'd be happy to help in any way I can. What's the problem?"

General Kellan sighed. "That, too, is a long story. Perhaps we should wait and discuss these things in person?"

Dylan nodded. "Fair enough. When should I be prepared to meet you?"

"We'll make it a dinner function. The invitation extends to any personnel you care to bring with you. 1800 hours local time. Is that agreeable?"

Dylan spared a glance at the chrono display beside the screen. Five hours; that should be plenty of time for Harper to compile a list of parts and supplies needed to make Andromeda's repairs, and for everyone to prepare for what had rapidly become a diplomatic function. That thought gave him an inward shudder; the crew of the Maru and diplomatic events were two things that combined about as well as anti-protons and atmosphere, and often to similar results. However, it was a bit late for second thoughts now.

"That sounds just fine, General. We'll see you at 1800."

"Very good. See you then, Captain." Kellan smiled affably, then pressed a button to end the transmission. The viewscreen darkened, and the image of Lanvar Three reappeared in his stead. The planet was covered in thick green-gray clouds, from which the skyhook prominently protruded, linking the station to the planet below.

Dylan turned to Trance, who had been standing to one side watching as he spoke with General Kellan, and looked at her expectantly. "Well, Trance? What do you think?"

"He seems like a nice man," she replied decisively, without hesitation. "I think you can trust him."

Dylan took a deep, relieved breath. Deception and attempted murder had become par for the course for the last... well, actually, more or less since Andromeda was rescued from the black hole, now that he thought about it. It was refreshing to think that he might actually be able to sit down to dinner with a planetary leader without having somebody try to kill him. "Good. In that case, who thinks they can handle coming to dinner without starting a diplomatic incident?"

All eyes turned to Harper. "What?!" he protested, hands raised defensively. "What have I ever done to... okay, don't answer that. But this time'll be different. Honest. Trust in the Harper..."

Dylan cut him off before he could tell them that the Harper was good. "Alright, Mr. Harper, you can come. Just... try to maintain some appearance of professionalism?"

"Absolutely. Seamus Harper, strictly business. You won't have a thing to worry about from me," Harper exuberantly reassured him, grinning.

"Perhaps I should come as well, Captain," Rhade interjected. "It would be advisable to have someone with you to keep an eye on security matters while you conduct negotiations, and I am confident that Beka and Andromeda can handle the ship's defense in the event of an attack in our absence."

Dylan blinked. Maybe there was such a thing as _too much_ professionalism. "Agreed. Beka, bring us in for docking with the station. Harper, have a list of supplies we need for repairs, as well as an inventory of whatever surplus we have available for trading, ready by 1730 hours. Rhade, keep me informed of anything unusual."

A chorus of "Right," "Will do," and "Aye, sir," followed Dylan out of Command as he headed for his office to review in further detail the information in Andromeda's database on Lanvar Three.


	3. Chapter 3 Good Morning, Jane

Lieutenant Jane Xavier luxuriated in the feeling of the cool linen sheets wrapped around her. And in the knowledge of the fact that it was long past noon, and she was still in bed. _A day off,_ she decided, _is the most beautiful thing in the universe._

At that moment, a polite beeping from her desk informed Jane that she had an incoming call. She sighed. "No rest for the wicked," Jane observed wryly as she untangled herself from her bed sheets. Managing to extricate everything but one foot, she hopped over to her desk and tapped the answer button. "Lieutenant Xavier here," she told the monitor, before the image of the caller had a chance to appear.

"Good afternoon, Jane," a cheerful voice replied, accompanied by the image of a young redheaded woman in a military uniform appearing on the screen. The woman took stock of Jane's bed-hair and pajamas with a glance. "...Or morning, as you prefer. How're you doing?"

"Well, I was doing great, Cassie, until you woke me up out of the dream I was having," Jane grinned suggestively.

The woman, Cassie, pretended to look remorseful. "My deepest and most profound apologies, then. Listen..." she switched to a more serious tone. "I know it's your day off, but this assignment just came across my desk, and I thou---"

"Cass..." Jane whined with deliberate melodrama, "when was the last time I had a day off, huh?"

"I know. I keep telling you that you work too hard. But I think this assignment will be a nice change of pace for you. General Kellan's having a diplomatic dinner party with some offworlders tonight. We're talking about informal guard duty, and a free meal on the military's tab that doesn't come in a bar or a tube."

"Alright, alright, you've talked me into it. When do I have to be there?"

Cassie glanced to the side, looking at a flexi. "Dinner's at 1800. There'll be a short briefing in the General's office at 1720. And since you'll be on base, you might as well stop in here at 1700 so I can tell you how you _should_ have done your hair." The redhead grinned mischievously.

Jane rolled her eyes, paused, and self-consciously began to tame the brown mess on her head back into something resembling a hairstyle. "Evil woman. Okay, I'll see you at 1700 then. This is military dress, I take it?"

The other woman glanced down at the flexi again, and nodded. "You got it."

Having just achieved victory over her hair, Jane gave a long-suffering sigh. "I will _never_ get used to uniforms. Oh well. See you tonight, Cass." She turned off the transmission, and looked over her shoulder to glare at her uniform, which was innocently draped over a chair. When it stubbornly refused to burst into flame under her gaze, she got up and headed for the shower.


	4. Chapter 4 Dinner, and a Problem

"...And that, in a nutshell, is how we wound up being taken off the Restored Commonwealth's Christmas card list," Dylan concluded, and took a sip of the sweet, violet beverage that had been served with dinner.

General Kellan gave an impressed nod. "Sounds like you've had a hell of a time of things while we've been out of circulation, Captain Hunt. I hope things start going better for you from here on out."

Harper snorted. "Well things certainly can't get much w---"He stopped short when the dark-haired goddess in the tight, brown uniform that left practically nothing to the imagination... _Down boy, Seamus,_ he told himself, _you don't want to drool on the nice General's tablecloth..._ touched his arm.

"Things can always get worse, Mr. Harper," she told him with a wry smile, "and from what I understand, the universe tends to get irritable when it's told what it can't do."

_She touched me. And she remembered my name. _And_ she's smiling at me. I must have her._ He briefly contemplated seducing her right here on the dining table, on top of the Ansonian tuber pasta, but rejected the idea. _That's probably the sort of 'diplomatic incident' Dylan was talking about... And besides, I'd get slapped into the middle of next week, and time travel makes my head hurt._ So instead, he had another forkful of pasta, and tried to think of something witty to say.

"General, I believe you said you had a story to tell me in return?" Dylan asked, bringing the discussion back to the topic.

"Indeed, I did," Kellan replied, pouring himself another glass of the syrupy, violet liquid, which suggested that his tale would be a long one. "Perhaps I should begin at the beginning..."

ooooo

"The original mining colony on Lanvar Three was established about twelve years before the civil war broke out among the Commonwealth---or, the Old Commonwealth, is what we're calling it now?" Dylan nodded, and the General continued. "The colony was funded by a group of independent businessmen, who saw an opportunity to profit from the rare ores here, the uses of which in the hulls of starships had recently begun to be researched. The colony was peopled with refugees from other planets, following the investors' promises that they could make a better living for themselves and their families here than they could at home. And they did, until the war."

"The chaos of the rebellion meant a slackening of oversight on regulations concerning trade and labor, and when the Commonwealth fell, those restrictions disappeared completely. Whatever corners that could be cut to increase the investors' profit margin, were cut. Working conditions worsened. Accidents became more frequent. Wages dropped, while the price of food and other supplies imported to the planet by the colony's owners skyrocketed. And you've probably noticed the environmental conditions that persist outside of the domed cities on the planet below us?"

"I'll say," Harper interjected. "It looks like every factory in the quadrant threw up down there."

"Thank you for that mental image, Mr. Harper," remarked Dylan, noting as Rhade glanced at his food and very casually put down his fork.

"It's all right, Captain; he's right. The men who financed this colony wanted their ore extracted and refined by the cheapest and fastest means possible, the result of which was the steady poisoning of our planet. It was only when the pollution became so severe that people started to die that the investors ordered the construction of domes over our largest cities, and only then because doing so was cheaper than bringing in new labor every few years as their old workforce died out."

As the General spoke, Dylan glanced back at Harper, who had likewise put down his fork, and whose hands were tightening around his napkin. It seemed that Kellan's words were striking a chord with the young engineer.

"With the destruction of Lanvar Three's ecology, the investors' control over our people became even more complete, because the planet was incapable of producing food for its inhabitants. What they charged us for basic foodstuffs alone nearly matched what they paid us for the ores, locking our people into a cycle of dependency and debt that was tantamount to---"

"Slavery," Harper finished for him. His earlier levity had now vanished completely from his demeanor, and his eyes held a cold fire that Dylan recognized from the uprising on Earth against the Drago-Kazov over a year ago. The _unsuccessful_ uprising, a failure for which he knew Harper felt deeply responsible.

General Kellan must have noticed the personal tone the discussion had suddenly taken for the younger man, because he didn't seem at all annoyed by the interruption. He nodded in affirmation. "Precisely, Mr. Harper. Several years ago, a number of us realized that if our world was to have any future at all, we had to get out from under the thumb of the people who claimed to own our planet. It started out slowly; strikes and work stoppages, which were of course met with force. Then we moved on to sabotage. Finally, about two years ago, when no ore had left the surface of this planet for over a year, our overlords packed up their toys and went home. Or so we thought.

"With the original administrative structure of the colony gone, we had to fill in the gaps. We were now in charge of not only running the planet, but shipping our ores to potential buyers and trading for the supplies we couldn't produce ourselves. So we patched together some secondhand cargo vessels, and started going to market. That's when they started hitting our ships. I suppose they figured that if they couldn't get our ore the old-fashioned way, they'd try piracy. But we haven't been making it easy for them lately, which is why, I imagine, they picked up their newest trick. Taking a page from the Resistance's old book, they resorted to sabotage. This, Captain, is where the problem I mentioned to you comes in."

Dylan leaned forward in his seat, noticing in his peripheral vision that Harper did likewise, intent on hearing what was to come next. Rhade didn't change his position at all, but that, Dylan suspected, was the weapons officer trying not to draw attention to himself. Rhade, characteristically, had not let his guard down all evening.

Kellan continued. "Not long after the Resistance gained power and the interim government was assembled, it was concluded that Lanvar Three's biggest weakness was its complete ecological devastation. Not only does this lead to a complete dependence on offworld supplies for basic necessities like food, but it has led to massive overcrowding in the few domed cities on the planet. There wasn't enough room in the cities to house the planet's entire population when the domes were built, and despite deaths resulting from disease and fire due to cramped living conditions, as well as pandemic levels of homelessness, poverty, and starvation, there are still far too many people to fit comfortably under our domes. We recognized that the key to our future survival lay in reclaiming the Outside. Already our working refineries have converted to cleaner-running systems, but our most ambitious project is to reverse the damage that has already been done.

"To that end, we built an air processing station in the hills several miles outside the capital city. It's the first of several stations that will, hopefully, purify the air Outside to the point where imported trees will be able to survive and continue the process. From there, we plan to move on to the groundwater, the soil, and ultimately the oceans. These developments will take decades to implement and centuries before they reach full effect, but this processing station is the first step, the flagship of this administration."

_The man sounds like he knows what he's doing,_ thought Dylan. _However, there's a 'but' coming up, and it's going to be our job to take care of it._

"As I said before, the men whose ancestors made their money off of our ancestors' backs aren't willing to give up this planet without a fight. We believe their ultimate plan is to take Lanvar three back the same way that we won it away from them; through the will of its people. They have already sent agitators into the cities to convince people that the air processing plants, and thus our entire environmental restoration program, are doomed to failure; a prediction they plan to make true through the sabotage of the processing facility."

_There's the 'but.'_ "And you'd like for us to help you stop this sabotage, General?"

General Kellan met Dylan's gaze, a haze of regret clouding his features. "Actually, Captain Hunt, we were hoping you might be able to help us reverse it."

"So the sabotage has already occurred," confirmed Dylan. The General nodded. "What is the nature of the damage?"

The dark-haired woman sitting beside Harper picked up a flexi from a nearby side table and handed it to Kellan, who glanced down at it before speaking. "A computer virus, or series of viruses, embedded in the facility's systems, making them impossible even to access remotely. Many of our personnel are fairly adept at various kinds of tech-related operations, but from what we've been able to observe about the problem from here, this virus is completely over the heads of anybody we have on staff. I know it's a lot to hope for, but if you have anyone in your crew who you think might be able to even put a dent into this thing," he gestured with the flexi, "the planet of Lanvar Three would owe you a great debt."

Dylan spared another glance at Harper, who looked about ready to jump out of his seat and volunteer himself. Instead, the younger man met Dylan's eyes, his expression expectant. Dylan cleared his throat. "I believe the man you're in need of, then, is our Mr. Harper here. And unless I'm sorely mistaken, he's more than willing to volunteer his services in this matter."

The General turned to Harper. "Is that true, Mr. Harper? Are you willing to help us?"

This time, Harper did rise from his seat. "Absolutely."

General Kellan rose as well and offered Harper his hand to shake. "Then you have my gratitude as well. Here's the information we've been able to gather about the virus problem thus far." He passed the flexi to the engineer.

Rhade chose this moment to make his presence felt again. "Excuse me for speaking out of turn, General, but what exactly will this assistance entail?"

Kellan turned to the Nietzschean with an approving half-nod; evidently, he appreciated a man who understood and took seriously matters of security. "Since we cannot access the facility's computer systems remotely, we will have to send Mr. Harper directly to the processing plant itself. The journey will be made on foot, since we have yet to develop a land or air vehicle that doesn't encounter problems with either visibility or ventilation in all that smog."

"Couldn't we simply bring a spacecraft directly down to the facility?" Rhade asked. "The Andromeda is equipped with a full complement of slipfighters." Dylan noted wryly that the Weapons Officer had learned not to volunteer the Maru for anything without asking Beka first.

The General arched an eyebrow. "Theoretically, Mr. Rhade, you could, but you'd be flying blind. As I said, visuals from inside a vehicle of any kind are practically nonexistent, and some of the isotopes in the atmosphere, produced by the ore refining process, have a tendency to play havoc with most kinds of external sensors. In all likelihood, you wouldn't find the ground until _it_ found _you_."

Harper nodded. "He's right. Rommie mentioned before we left that Andromeda's sensors were having a hard time scanning the planet's surface through the atmosphere." His voice was now flat, empty of all the young man's characteristic cheerfulness, and Dylan thought regretfully that he'd gotten his wish for Harper to show some professionalism.

Rhade seemed satisfied, so General Kellan continued. "We do, however, have equipment that will make foot travel through the Outside possible. Travel should take no longer than three or four days. Leading the expedition will be one of my staff, who is both familiar with navigating the terrain Outside and fully capable in combat, should you be attacked en route. Lieutenant Xavier, can you be ready to start out tomorrow morning?"

The dark-haired woman blinked, but recovered herself quickly. Evidently she had not known about the assignment beforehand. "Of course, General."

"Very good. Of course, you may feel free to assign any additional security personnel to the team that you feel necessary, as it is entirely possible that our saboteurs will have operatives positioned to ensure that we don't get anyone into the facility to make repairs. However, it is best to keep the team as small as possible, as a larger group is more likely to attract attention." Both Dylan and Rhade nodded their agreement, and Kellan addressed them both. "If that course of action meets with your approval, then Lieutenant Xavier will be ready for your team at 0800 tomorrow morning."

"That sounds fine, General." Dylan extended his hand, and General Kellan shook it warmly.

"In that case," the General announced, reclaiming his chair, "let's have dessert."


	5. Chapter 5 Have Fun, She Says

After the Andromeda personnel had left for the evening, Jane hunted down the little redheaded demon who had set her up with this assignment. She found Cassie in her office.

"There you are. Were you a party to this little bait-and-switch?" Jane demanded with mostly feigned irritation.

"Hm? Oh, hi Jane. How'd the dinner meeting go?" Cassie smiled, the very picture of innocence.

_Innocence, my eye,_ thought Jane. "The meeting went just fine. Evidently the Andromeda's engineer is some kind of computer genius, and he's volunteered to go out to the air processing facility and take a look at the problem. And guess who got drafted to lead him out there? Go on, guess." She fixed the redhead with a piercing look.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jane! And on your day off, too." Cassie's voice was sympathetic, but there was mischief in her eyes. "Now, let's get to the important part. What were the guys like? Any potential?"

Jane sat down on the edge of her friend's desk. "I swear, Cass," she growled, "if this is another one of your attempts to play matchmaker..."

Cassie shot her a look of wounded innocence. "Jane, how could I possibly be doing that? I don't even know what the boys looked like." Then she grinned and sat forward, leaning her elbows on the desk. "So you'll have to _tell_ me."

Jane chuckled, surrendering to the gossip session that this visit was inevitably going to become. "Okay, okay. I guess their captain was all right, _if_ you go for the knight-in-shining-armor type; which, by the way, I don't. Same deal with the Nietzschean; he wasn't bad looking or anything, just too..." she gestured with one hand, as if trying to bring the right word to the surface of her mind.

"Perfect?" Cassie supplied. "I know what you mean. If you've seen _one_ Nietzschean guy naked, you've seen 'em all."

Jane arched a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. "Oh, and I suppose you've seen one?"

"Well that's neither here nor there. So, what about the other guy, this computer genius of theirs?" Cassie segued deftly.

"His name's Harper. He's..." Jane started to smile, then caught herself and glared at the redhead. "Dammit, Cassie, I have to _work_ with this guy. I cannot afford to be having thoughts like that."

The other woman grinned. "He's cute, isn't he?"

Jane gave a defeated sigh. "Yes, he's cute, okay? Are you happy?"

"Thrilled beyond recognition," Cassie replied wryly. "But you're not going to do anything about it, are you?"

"Cass, I have a job to do. This is the military, not a dating service. I can't just run off with the guy I'm supposed to be protecting, and..." Jane stopped herself before she let her imagination finish the sentence for her. "I have a job to do," she repeated.

"I'm not suggesting that you shouldn't do your job, girl. But you _have_ been using that as an excuse not to have a social life lately. Come on, it was _far_ too easy for me to convince you to come in on your day off this afternoon. And do I even need to remind you how long it's been since the last time you got laid?"

"Please don't," Jane deadpanned.

"So, you see my point. Listen, all I'm saying is, you're going to be out there in the middle of nowhere with this guy, alone, for over a week---"

"Probably not alone, actually," she corrected. "General Kellan told their captain they could assign additional security personnel from their crew to this mission, and from the story I heard tonight, I'd be worried if these guys _weren't_ a little bit paranoid. I'll probably get saddled with their weapons officer. So even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to get very romantic with Harper, not with a big Nietzschean chaperone tagging along for the ride."

"'_Even if'_ you wanted to?" Cassie teased.

"Don't start with me," Jane warned, pointing a mock-threatening finger at her friend. She stood up. "Anyway, I should be heading home. I've got an early day tomorrow; I'm supposed to meet the Andromeda team at oh-eight-hundred." She enunciated every syllable of the time pointedly, implying that she blamed Cassie for every minute of missed sleep.

The redhead only grinned impishly. "Goodnight, then. Call me when you get back. Have fun!"

_Fun._ Jane briefly considered throttling her best friend, but decided that murder would take too long, and she _did_ have an early day tomorrow. She rolled her eyes at Cassie, then waved and walked out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6 Gearing Up for Action

The next morning found Jane in the staging area of the base at 0800 sharp, double-checking the gear as she waited for the Andromeda team. She'd gotten plenty of sleep the previous night, a fact she almost regretted in retrospect. Had she been tired, she would have had a legitimate reason for her irritation at being here. As it was, Jane had no scapegoats to put between her and the real reason for her reluctance toward this mission. She'd tried to brush off last night's conversation with Cassie as merely a symptom of her friend's lunatic matchmaking zeal, but it had sparked off thoughts that now refused to leave her alone. Had she not been made to admit them out loud, Jane was sure she could have just ignored them and gotten on with things. But now...

_Sure I'm attracted to the guy. There's nothing wrong with that; hell, I'm not _dead_. I mean, he's got that great smile, sexy blond hair that just _begs_ to be touched, and those eyes... It's just that there are more important things right now. _She closed the pack she'd been checking, and began to pace. _Our continued independence predicates on the operation of the air filtration plant, and the plant's functioning predicates on the success of this mission. I have a job to do, and that job is more important than a crush. I don't have time for teenage infatuations---I'm twenty-six years old!_ Cassie's words rang in her mind, and she kicked the leg of the metal bench next to her in frustration. A moment later, she realized how painful that could have been, and silently thanked the Divine for steel-toed boots. _And I am _not _using my work as an excuse not to have a social life. It's just that I have responsibilities that have to come first._

On impulse, she returned to her pile of gear and took a flexi out of her pack. It contained the brief dossiers that the Andromeda had provided on the crew members who were joining her on this mission. Jane had been right; they were sending Weapons Officer Telemachus Rhade as "additional security personnel." But it wasn't Rhade's file she was interested in at the moment. She scrolled the display up to the photograph of the blond engineer, an image she'd studiously ignored while reviewing the dossiers last night. _Yep,_ she thought at the face that grinned up at her from the flexi, _still cute. Goddammit. _Irritably, she shoved the flexi back under the flap of her pack. _I am an adult. I have responsibilities. I can deal with this. I _will _deal with this._

Just then, the object of her vexation walked through the staging area doors, trailing his Nietzschean bodyguard behind him. The young engineer wore the same inconveniently attractive grin that his photograph bore, although in this case it was clouded by grogginess. Evidently, Mr. Seamus Zelazney Harper wasn't a morning person.

As if to confirm Jane's observation, Harper yawned. "Wow. I forgot they even _made_ an 0800 hours. So, what's the plan, Lieutenant?" He flashed her that adorable, cocky smile of his.

_I really wish he'd stop doing that. No, I don't. But it would be easier that way._ Despite her best efforts, she found herself smiling back. "Well, for starters, call me Jane. We're going to be spending a lot of time together over the next week or so, and frankly, every time somebody says 'Lieutenant' to me, I have to fight down the urge to dive for cover and reach for my weapon." It was true; despite the fact that it had been over two years since they'd driven the Lanvar System Mining Corporation off the planet, and almost that long since they'd set up a formal government and military structure, she was still not used to having an official rank within a legitimate command system. She had gotten accustomed to working on the other side of the law. Her hatred of uniforms was merely a symptom of her discomfort. At least today, it was a symptom she'd been able to avoid; this morning she wore a set of brown and gray fatigues instead of a full uniform. Similar attire awaited the Andromeda team in the changing stalls to her left; if any of the Corporation's lackeys were waiting for them Outside, the camouflage would make them harder to spot through the smog.

"The next thing," Jane continued, slipping into a more serious voice, "is your gear. Item number one is your energy siphon vest." She picked up a garment made of flexible, matte black material from the bench. "It gets rather warm Outside, what with the advanced greenhouse effect from all the crap in the atmosphere. This vest is made of a special polymer that absorbs energy on contact, including unnecessary body heat. The polymer converts the thermal energy into... something else. A lot of people on this planet have a very solid grasp of complicated technology; unfortunately, I don't happen to be one of them. Regardless, it works. In fact, the damn thing could probably suck up a round from a gauss gun before it got completely fried. Of course, I wouldn't want to be the one to test that theory. Needless to say, it's a very expensive piece of equipment." Whereupon she unceremoniously tossed the vest to Harper. He fumbled with it for a moment, but managed to hold onto it. Jane suppressed a grin.

"That brings us to what's possibly an even more vital piece of equipment; namely, the thing that will allow you to breathe while we're wandering around in all that atmospheric sewage out there." She picked up a narrow strip of metal with padding on one side. "This is your filtration strip. It goes here." She peeled off the backing and affixed it to the bridge of her nose, bending it to fit. "Evidently, air molecules come in different shapes and sizes. The filtration strip creates a miniature force field around your face, letting the good molecules in and keeping the bad ones out. Beyond that, I'm not even going to pretend to know how it works. Suffice it to say that it does. Also very expensive. One thing, and I cannot stress this enough; do not, I repeat, do _not_, under any circumstances remove your filtration strip when we're Outside. I assure you, you do not want to try breathing that shit."

Jane glanced down at the rest of the assembled equipment. "That's about it. The rest of your gear should be fairly self-explanatory. C-rations, distilled water, radio flares: the basics. There's changing stalls over there for you to get into your siphon vests and camos. If you're harder to see, you're harder to shoot, and there's a fair-to-average chance that there are some nasty people Outside who want to stop us from getting where we're going." She pointed the boys in the direction of the stalls, and watched them walk off, vests in hand. Or, more accurately, watched Harper.

_Odd_, she thought, _how I slipped into that very 'military' demeanor while I was giving them their stuff. I'm not usually so... drill-sergeant. Is that what it's gonna take to keep myself from coming on to him? Great._ She watched him disappear into the stall, only then realizing that her eyes had been locked on his ass the entire way. _I have _got _to stop doing that._ She resolutely turned away from the stalls and sat down on the bench to wait, trying not to visualize the state of undress that the young blonde must be in at that moment. And failing.

ooooo

Harper stepped into one of the changing stalls and dropped his energy siphon vest onto the bench. The hand he'd been holding it with was already tingling with cold. _Wow,_ he thought, _those suckers really do the job. It'd better be as hot down there on the surface as Lieutenant Sexy says it is._ He smiled at the thought of her as he stripped off his t-shirt. _I think she likes me. And by that, I mean she hasn't chased me away with weapon drawn yet. That's always a good sign._ He picked up the vest and slipped his arms into it, then paused a moment. _Then again, all of the women who've been into me lately have turned out to be evil._ He started counting on his fingers. _Satrina: evil. Professor Kor-Kavo: evil. Saguro: gorgeous, brilliant, and great taste in men, but ultimately, evil. _Harper felt a chill as the energy-siphon vest settled against his skin and started leaching the heat from his body. _I really hope this one isn't evil._

He zipped up the front of the close-fitting vest and picked up the tank top from the neatly-folded pile of fatigues that he'd found waiting in the stall for him. It was a muddy gray-brown color; Harper made a face at it. "I can't say much for these people's fashion sense," he observed flippantly to Rhade, who was changing in the stall next to him.

"From what we've been told about the conditions of the landscape on the planet below us, these colors should be suitable to help us blend in with the terrain," came the Nietzschean's voice from over the partition. "Besides, Beka's told me about some of the shirts you used to wear. I don't think you have any place to criticize the wardrobe choices of others."

Harper opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," he informed Rhade, and sighed. _I'm never going to live down those shirts._ He pulled the tank top on; like the vest, it fit comfortably but snugly. These people must have gotten his clothing sizes with the information that Andromeda had sent over for the mission.

That thought gave Harper a shiver, and he wondered what else they knew about him. Granted, he wanted to help these people, Dylan seemed to think they were okay, and Trance even said they were trustworthy, but the thought of a group of people he'd known for only a few hours having information on him without his knowing about it made him twitchy. Then again, growing up on Earth tended to make a person a little paranoid. So did having former crewmates turn against you and side with the Abyss, and ending up with two-thirds of the Known Worlds hunting you down as criminals against the Restored Commonwealth, come to think of it. Compared to that, the fact that the quartermaster of the Lanvar Three orbital military base knew his shirt size really shouldn't bother him too much. Now to find out how they did on the pants...

Harper shucked his baggy cargo pants, dropping them in a crumpled heap on the bench, and pulled on the camos. They, too, fit ideally: plenty of room in the legs, but fitted at the waist. He turned around and looked in the mirror across from his stall. _Perfection. Let's see the good Lieutenant turn me down now. Assuming she's not evil._ Grinning to himself, he tied his boots, gathered up his clothes, and headed out of the stall to meet up with Rhade, who had just finished changing.

As they headed across the staging area floor toward their guide, who was bent over one of the packs to double-check its contents, Harper turned to Rhade, keeping his voice low to prevent the room's acoustics from carrying it. "Looks like the view on the way to the plant is going to be fantastic---and I'm not talking about the scenery," he observed, eyeing the lieutenant with exaggerated lecherousness. "And I think she digs me."

The Nietzschean looked at him icily. "Harper, you may not realize it, but listening to you make inappropriate remarks about women with whom you have utterly no chance _does_ get old after about the hundred _thousandth_ time."

Harper's face deflated into a pout. "I do too have a chance with her," he muttered under his breath.

The lieutenant---Jane, Harper reminded himself---must have heard them approach, because she zipped the pack and turned around to face them. "You boys all set?" she asked. They nodded. "Let's get going, then; we're burning daylight." With that, she shouldered her pack and headed for the door, leading them out of the room and down a corridor marked, "This Way to Skyhook Shuttle Platform."


	7. Chapter 7 Danger on the Trail

Jane glanced up at the yellowish-green clouds that blanketed the sky and guessed that the sun was about two or three hours past its zenith. It was impossible to be certain of the time in this manner, since the cloud cover never parted enough to actually _see_ the sun, but Jane's years with the Resistance had given her enough experience Outside to be able to gauge fairly closely. There was a lot she could tell from the intensity of the ambient sunlight, and the amount of contrast in the shadows on the rock face that ran along either side of their path.

They'd left the city's dome a little before noon, after Jane had suggested that her charges find somewhere to get lunch, since it would be the last real food they'd have for at least a week. While the military-issue ration bars were one hundred percent nutritionally complete, they left something to be desired in the way of palatability.

That meant they'd only been Outside for a couple of hours. Of course, that was very much like saying they'd only been hiking around in a pressure cooker for a couple of hours. Despite their energy siphon vests, it was uncomfortably hot. Without those vests, it would have been too hot to withstand for any sustained duration. Jane had long since gotten used to operating in Outside conditions, and the Andromeda's weapons officer seemed to be having no trouble, undoubtedly due to his Nietzschean physiology. That left only the young engineer looking rather worse for wear. Unfortunately, there wasn't much help for it; they were stuck in these conditions until they reached the facility. The only thing Jane could do was keep their pace fairly easy, and frequently remind Harper to drink water.

Jane glanced over her shoulder to suggest that Harper take another sip from his canteen, when she noticed that the Nietzschean had stopped, his head cocked as if listening for something. Given that she knew how to get where they were going, Jane had taken point, and Rhade had fallen back and assumed rear guard. Now Jane let Harper pass her as she quietly approached Rhade's position. Nietzscheans, she knew, had better sensory acuity than unaugmented humans, and if there was someone following them, he would very likely hear them first.

She didn't speak as she came up to Rhade, letting her expression ask the question for her. She didn't want to interfere with his ability to hear sounds too faint for her to catch. In response, he pointed upward, at the rock face that stood above them. Her eyes followed his gesture, squinting through the smog at the rocks. After several missions Outside for the Resistance, and later as part of the recon team that had initially scouted the location for the air treatment plant, she knew the topography of this part of the world rather well, and the large cairn of loose rocks at the top of the defile definitely didn't belong there. In fact, though it was hard to tell from here, it looked almost artificial...

_Shit. _"Run!" She started pelting down the track in the direction they'd been heading. Behind her, she heard Rhade's heavy footsteps pounding the rocky ground as he did likewise. Harper, who had been trudging on ahead as if stopping would make him that much less likely to want to start up again, seemed slower to register the urgency of the situation. Jane heard the telltale rumble of stone scraping against stone. The weight of several tons of rock above them, starting to slide, was almost palpable. _Sorry, Harper. It's time to move, whether you like it or not._ With that thought, she launched herself into a running tackle at the blond engineer, letting her momentum carry her forward into a tumble, and twisting so that she took the brunt of their inevitable and forceful impact with the ground. Pain blossomed in her shoulder as the hard earth rushed up to meet it, but was soon overwhelmed in importance by the roar of a small mountain of stone and dirt collapsing into the ravine.

It was several long moments before everything stopped moving and the thick dust began to settle, making vision possible. When the air was relatively clear again, Jane sat up and took a quick inventory of herself. She quickly found several bruises and abrasions, a few scrapes, and a throbbing shoulder. However, it didn't feel especially dislocated or broken, so she decided to ignore it. She then checked on Harper, who appeared to be going through much the same process with himself. "You alright?" she asked.

Harper glanced down at himself, cracked his neck a couple of times, and nodded. "I think so; more or less, at least. You?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'll go find Rhade. Stay down; I think that avalanche was triggered manually, and the last thing I need is to have you make it through this in one piece only to get shot when those bastards come down the hill." She was relieved to see Harper nod and duck behind a fallen boulder, drawing his gauss gun.

Jane picked her way carefully across the rubble, peering through the dust and smog until she saw the Nietzschean's dark hair standing out against the lighter gray-brown of the stone. Rhade was a bit apart from most of the debris field; indeed, it looked like he might have gotten away completely unharmed, if not for the one large rock that had separated from its brethren and managed to come down squarely on his leg. As she approached, Jane saw him trying to work the leg free, while pretending that it didn't hurt nearly as much as it looked like it did. However, he didn't have the leverage to move the rock off and still have a leg when he was done.

She started to crouch down next to him, but dived for the ground as a pair of gunshots darted over her head. From behind her, she heard Harper snap off a few rounds in response, and a cry of pain followed by the sound of something landing with a wet _thump_ on the rocks told her that at least one of the engineer's shots had found its mark. "Nice shooting," she called over her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I do what I can," came Harper's reply. Evidently his adrenaline had kicked in; he sounded much more alert, and some of the exaggerated cockiness had come back to his tone.

Now that she wasn't being shot at, Jane crouched beside the weapons officer to get a better look at his leg. The rock had landed just below the knee, and from the angle of the lower leg, it looked fairly likely that both the tibia and fibula were fractured. That raised the question of what to do about the rock. Fortunately, the emergency first aid training that had been a part of Jane's formal military training had been recent enough that she _thought_ she still remembered the important bits. She knew that if she tried to move the rock, she risked further damaging bone and muscle tissue, as well as allowing the crushed blood vessels to bleed freely, but if she left the rock until help could arrive from the city, the risk became one of nerve damage and infection. The choice was easy: broken bones and torn muscle could be repaired fairly easily with the medical facilities in the city or on the Andromeda, but nerve damage was trickier, and with all the dirt and smog and toxins floating around out here, the wound needed cleaning.

She unstrapped her pack and fished around inside for her first aid kit, confident that she had Harper watching her back against any other would-be assassins. She laid out the medical supplies that she needed in the lid of the kit: antiseptics, gauze, tourniquet, splints. Of course, the first step was moving that rather sizable rock. Jane glanced around her, then chided herself for the wasted effort. _What exactly do I think I'm going to find around here, a stick? It's not like we've got trees._ She was fresh out of ideas. "I need something to use as a lever," she muttered to herself.

Harper spoke up from the rocks nearby. "Use Rhade's force lance; it extends out into a quarterstaff." _Clever,_ Jane thought approvingly. _I think I'm gonna like having him around._

"It does? Well, that's useful." She'd never gotten the chance to examine an old High Guard force lance, as they weren't exactly common around here. She looked down at Rhade. "May I?"

He nodded and pulled the force lance out of its leg holster, keying it to accept any user before handing it to her. After a moment's inspection, Jane figured out which button extended the Swiss army knife of firearms to staff length. She found a smaller stone and set it into position to use as a fulcrum, and wedged the end of the lance underneath the bottom of the rock. "I'm not going to lie to you," she told Rhade evenly. "This is going to hurt like hell."

He nodded, bracing himself, and she pushed on the makeshift lever, prying the rock up and off of Rhade's leg. Once the rock was completely clear, she told the Nietzschean, "Out from under. Hurry, 's'heavy." Rhade, doing an admirable job of pretending he wasn't in severe pain, complied. Jane eased the rock back down, retracted the force lance, and handed it back to Rhade. Then she set about tending to the crushed limb as well as her three week's training in emergency field medicine allowed.

After about thirty minutes of quick but careful work, the Nietzschean's leg was cleaned and bandaged. Rhade talked her through the process of setting the bone and splinting the leg. The entire time, Jane felt like she had targeting crosshairs painted between her shoulder blades, sitting there out in the open without so much as a weapon in her hand. She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to trust Harper to prevent the shot that she kept expecting from landing. When she had finished and was looking through Rhade's pack for a radio flare, the weapons officer grasped her arm and looked at her levelly. "The two of you need to get going."

Harper, weapon still in hand, stood up and stepped away from the rock face and toward them. "No way, Rhade," he said emphatically. "We're not gonna just leave you behind."

"Harper, he's right." Jane didn't like the idea of leaving a team member behind either, but there was really nothing for it, given the circumstances. "Remember, you're the one they're trying to kill, not him. If we move on, they'll come after us. We'll actually be leading trouble _away_ from Rhade. And we're only a few klicks out from the city; our people should have no trouble following the radio flare to his position. And until help arrives, he's got a weapon." She glanced over at the Rhade. "Are you as good a shot as your friend here?"

The Nietzschean snorted, half-grinning. "Better."

Jane arched an eyebrow. Evidently these two had some sort of friendly antagonism going. But that really wasn't the pressing concern of the moment. "There, you see? He'll be fine."

Harper still looked dubious. _No, more than that,_ Jane realized, noticing his almost haunted expression. _He has the look of a man who's had to leave people behind before, and doesn't want to do it again._ She knew the feeling. Harper was about to speak again; she raised a hand to forestall his protest. "Let me tell you a story. My third mission with the Resistance was on a team sent in to sabotage one of the ore refineries, one of several acts of sabotage planned to go off simultaneously. On the first day out, we run into a patrol, and one of our team, a guy named Sullivan, catches a shot in the thigh. He can't keep up with us, so we have to leave him in order to make it to the refinery in time. The mission goes off as planned, but the rest of us go through hell on the way back to headquarters---ambushed twice, forced to double back and sneak through the sewage marshes, having to dodge doubled-up patrols. When we finally make it back to HQ, beaten, ragged, and exhausted, we find Sullivan there, playing video games and flirting with his nurse while we'd been running for our lives."

The engineer nodded, reluctantly beginning to see her point. She pressed on. "This mission's over for him. He gets to go back to base and relax. We're the ones that still have over fifty klicks of ground to cover, with people intermittently trying to kill us along the way. And the sooner we get away from here, the less likely they're going to run across Rhade while they're looking for us." _And the sooner we get out of the open, and the back of my neck stops tingling like somebody's aiming at it,_ her mind added.

"She's right, Harper," the weapons officer affirmed. "Get out of here. I'll be fine."

The young engineer sighed. "I guess that does make sense," he conceded. Jane waved him over to her, and the two of them helped Rhade move closer to the shelter of the rock face. Again, Rhade took care not to give voice to what must have been quite a lot of pain.

Jane snapped the top off the radio flare, activating the beacon, and set it down beside the Nietzschean, who already had his force lance drawn. "Take good care of him," Rhade told her as she stood up and shouldered her pack.

She nodded. "Count on it."

Harper adjusted the straps on his pack and scanned the top of the defile, still a bit reluctant to leave. "See you in a week or so, Rhade."

The Nietzschean turned to him with a pointed look. "Not if you don't get going." Jane noticed that his eyes didn't quite match the sharpness of his tone.

"Alright, okay, I get your point. We're already gone." With that, Harper turned and followed Jane down the path.


End file.
